Seconds
by kloperslegend
Summary: What started as a chore for Artie became an unexpected bonding moment for both women. First installation of the 'Seconds' series. Prequel to 'Minutes.'


**Author:** Kloperslegend

**Pairing:** Myka Bering & HG Wells

**Rating:** PG

**Spoiler:** Some season 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters, but some days I sure do wish I did.

Summary: What started as a simple task turned into an unexpected bonding moment for both women.

10/27/12

I have never before written such a long drabble. I intend this to be chapter in the middle of what will likely become a much longer work. Set sometime between "Vendetta" and "Buried"

Special thanks to BeagMacTire, my beta.

* * *

Helena muffled the thoughts deep inside of her, down where they had been buried when she was bronzed not so long ago. It wasn't that her musings were distasteful or undesirable - oh, far from it - but it was just something that was unlikely, and it was no use to spend time wishing for things that simple weren't.

Not that she would let anyone know of her uncertainties.

A brilliant light would blind anyone if it was bright enough, and Helena had been, and was now, by far one of the most brilliant minds on the planet. She could keep everything locked inside. She had done so before. 'Twould be easy to do again.

The only time it hadn't been easy was in youth, in London. It hadn't been, not when she was just growing, no; there had been too many physical constraints placed upon her by her family. Dreams cast down again and again, her unrest and anger becoming the flame that would forge her mind of steel; the oppression of her desires only the anvil that would make her mind harder. More stern. Unrelenting.

"Oh shit, Pete, look. H.G.'s got on the face!"

Helena glanced up from her mental landscaping without moving. Claudia had a look of suspicion, but the quirk tugging at the corner of her mouth gave away the humor of the situation. "What face?"

"Oh, you know, the face you make when you're being serious or grumpy or, like, right before you go all wonder woman on the bad guys. That face."

Helena raised an eyebrow as Pete rounded the corner. He stood next to Claudia with his hands on his waist, breathing heavily, shirt damp with sweat under Artie's furious routine. "Dang. You're right Clauds! What's up, H.G.?"

Helena stood from the chair in Artie's office, brown leather cool under slender fingers. She sighed, smiling as she approached the pair. "Nothing to be concerned about." At the look on the young woman's face, she added, "No fear, Claudia darling, I have no villainous intentions." _And I wish you all would simply let it go_, she added silently. She turned to Pete. "And how are the repairs to the… ah…" She moved in closer to Pete. "What did Artie call it, exactly?"

The larger man bellowed from the other room just as Pete opened his mouth. "A zip line, Agent Wells, a zip line!" The rest of whatever he had to say was reduced to grumbling.

"Indeed." She paused, glancing towards the origin of the voice. "In my day we just called them inclined strongs. My brother included one in a scene in The Invisible Man, I believe." The other two just stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Though it's understandable where the modern name comes from," she ceded.

Pete frowned, thinking hard. "Ya' know, I feel like I should be able to crack a good one with that, but I just can't think of anything."

Helena quirked an eyebrow, folding her arms lightly. "No fear, Pete. I'm sure you'll come up with something eventually."

The three of them moved out to the overhang where Artie was busy trying to repair his snapped zip lines and rusted trolleys. "Pete, confound it, come back here and help me before I end up snapping more than just another line." He shook his fist at the open air of the warehouse. "You hear me? You're making me _snap_."

Both Claudia and H.G. had their arms folded. "I don't understand why – "

"Really it would much easier if –"

They looked at each other and smiled. Claudia held both her hands out towards the older woman. "Take it away, H.G."

"Artie, there multiple ways this system can be improved, if you would just let –"

"No, no, this is the way we've gotten around for the entire time Warehouse 13 has been standing, and I'll not change it!" He began waddling down his ladder, a multicolored wooden contraption that looked more like a caricature of a ladder than a ladder itself.

"But Artie, surely you realize there are far better ways to get around the warehouse – I'm sure Claudia and I could –"

"No!"

"Hey Artie? Yeah… she's kind of got a point." Unimpressed, Claudia grimaced, her lips pulled back in feigned disgust. "I wouldn't be surprised if those puppies have killed more agents than some of the wacky crap we've got down there."

Helena jumped in. "From the looks of them they might as well be the same ones that were in warehouse 12, darling. In which case you would be quite right."

Claudia's eyes widened momentarily. "See?" she remarked, gesturing to Helena, "Even the old lady thinks they're too old."

Artie completed his trip down the ladder and readjusted his glasses. "Yes, well, too bad." He headed back into the office, Claudia quick on his heels. "The ziplines stay as they are."

"But Artie, think about it! Isn't it great now the computers are upgraded? You resisted that at first…"

"Hm, Claudia, I wonder why? Because while _maybe_ you _enjoyed_ being taken over by a computerized former agent, I…"

Helena let their argument go and leaned over the banister overlooking the warehouse. It wasn't anything new, and if Artie didn't want her assistance, fine. She was sure Claudia would simply upgrade the system while he was gone anyway, and would come to her with any mechanical concerns. Helena smiled at the thought. If she was wise, she would check Claudia's work before she overhauled the old ziplines, just to avoid any catastrophes. While the young woman was quite ingenious, really, easily reminding Helena of her own hot-headed youth, everyone was fallible.

She looked down and saw a light-footed figure striding down the aisle toward the office. Myka. Her darling. In that single second, all the thoughts she had buried rushed to the surface before the composed woman pushed them back down. Myka looked up, and seeing Helena there, pulled out her Farnsworth. H.G. pulled hers out just as the buzzing began. Myka's face smiled at her in grayscale. "Helena."

Helena smiled back. "Myka, darling."

Myka colored a bit before continuing, "Would you mind helping me for a moment? I'm supposed to be checking the inventory for Leo Kanner's refrigerator, but the labels on the crates are facing away from the aisles rather than toward them."

"I see… How strange. And how terribly inconvenient for you. A refrigerator, you say? Would you like me to fetch Pete? I'm sure he'd love help you find a way to lift those crates."

"Actually, yes, that would be wonderful. If he's not busy."

Helena turned to look up at Pete struggling with the ziplines. "Are you about done there, sport?" H.G. teased, "Myka is hoping for your assistance with some lifting."

"No! He can't leave." H.G. turned toward Artie, where he glowered from his desk chair. "He can't leave until the ziplines are repaired. You'll have to help her yourself."

"But Artie," Pete whined, elongating the e until he sounded indistinctly like a toddler, "I've been here all morning."

"Yeah, well, it's in your contract. So."

Pete jabbed his finger at Helena. "And you –! If I can't call you grandma, you can't call me sport." Pete looked down at the Farnsworth in her hands. "Sorry, Mykes, I'm being held captive."

Helena looked back at Myka, who by now was completely lost. "Did you catch any that, by chance?"

"Ah, no."

Helena looked back around at the group, eyes glittering. "It appears our dear Arthur is holding your partner captive until he finishes repairing his precious ziplines. I'll be down in a moment to help you, Agent Bering; I'm sure we can figure something out."

Myka gave a slight smile. "I'll meet you by the stairs."

"As you wish."

Helena closed both the Farnsworth and her eyes, resting a moment in a futile attempt to make up for lost sleep. "Arthur, I'm going down to help Myka with an inventory snag. Ring me if something comes up, will you?" The only response was muffled grumbling from behind a computer monitor.

Claudia slid across the floor in her rolling desk chair. "I'll be sure to let you know if something crops up, H.G., no worries!"

Helena winked. "Thank you, dear."

The stairs were a long way down, appropriately so, and Helena pondered how far they had to dig before the actual building commenced. After all, the building was powered by the core of the Earth, so there had to be some fairly large tunnels somewhere. Undoubtedly they'd used some sort of artifact to make the task manageable. Normally it was something she'd know, as the planning for warehouse 13 occurred during her tryst at warehouse 12, but she was bronzed before garnering any details. She filed the thought away to ask Arthur later – he would know.

For now she had a job to do, to assist her Myka – not her Myka, she reminded herself, just Myka; Myka was her own woman with little to no interest in women as a romantic endeavor…

"H.G." Myka called from the bottom of the stairs. Helena smiled, trying to keep the melancholy from her face. "Thanks for helping me. I'm still not sure how we're going to rotate the fridge, though – you'd think any warehouse would have those giant trucks that can lift crates and flats, you know?" The two women started walking down the aisle, back towards the psychology artifact section. "But I guess Artie said they did have one once, but the discharge from the warehouse fried it, and even when given a layer of purple goo protection paint, it ended up being useless because of some electric reason or other. Or maybe that was the machine that kept getting lost in the warehouse on its own? I can't recall. Still, you'd think there'd be something…" Myka faded off and looked at Helena, who was smiling, bemused, at the floor. "I'm sorry, H.G., I'm rambling." She ran a hand through her curly hair and gave a small chuckle. "It's been a long day."

H.G. nodded, still gazing at the floor. "I have no doubt. Pete would likely agree with you." She looked up. "If you'd like, I think I may have a solution to your dilemma. We'll need to visit the H.G. Wells section, though. Assuming you don't mind."

Her voice always made Myka tingle. She had loved accents, and it took nearly everything for her love of books (and thereby, her desire to peddle H.G. for information) to be overridden by her respect for her formidable friend. "Ah, no." Myka found her mouth had gone dry. "I don't mind at all." She stared a moment longer at the raven-haired companion next to her, before motioning with her arm. "After you!"

At the H.G. Wells section, Helena began fumbling through her old chests as she muttered to herself. Myka walked slowly down the aisle, peering at the lightly touching the objects that didn't have large warning signs plastered all over them. She stopped momentarily at a notebook labeled 'H.G. sketchbook, last dated entry 1872.' "I didn't know you drew, H.G." Myka frowned. "That doesn't really seem like something you'd be terribly interested in."

"Drew? Oh, _draw_, yes, sketching. Well. To invent anything, really, you have to have a method by which to siphon the idea from your mind to the world, darling. A sketch is an excellent first step. And for the sketch to be of use, it has to be accurate." Helena slammed closed a beige-colored suitcase, sending dust hurtling into her eyes. She sneezed, sniffled, and pulled a kerchief from her back pocket to blow her nose before continuing. Myka had never seen H.G. look so, well… _normal_. H.G. continued. "So, I guess you could call it a skill of necessity." She frowned at the trunk.

Myka walked over, and after peering somewhat cautiously in the dusty suitcase asked, "Can I help you at all? What is it that you're looking for?"

"It's a piece of jewelry I invented, a choker, that momentarily increases the adrenaline level of the wearer, allowing for a sort of artificial 'flight or fight,' as you call it. Except it works more on just the adrenaline of the body, stimulating specific neurons, really, making the response much stronger than a normal 'flight or fight' response."

"So, like a super-hero artifact, but biological rather than something dealing with density."

"Correct." Helena moved to the next trunk, rifling through a mish-mash of Victorian era clothes and assorted tools. Myka pulled up a nearby stool and sat next to her, sorting through Helena's belongings.

"What's the downside?"

Helena gave a small smile at Myka's cautious nature. "Exhaustion. Immense exhaustion. Nothing completely serious; you won't suffer heart failure or anything ridiculous, nor will you be running a marathon; however, the wearer typically needs to rest for a few minutes before attempting anything more. As well as consuming a meal soon after." Helena paused. "I worked for some time trying to find some way to avert the side effects without having to inject the user with some form of high-electrolyte IV, but could never successfully forestall it."

Myka smiled. "Well, we all can't be masters of everything, Helena. I'd say your specialty lies more in physics and time than biology." Helena gave a snort. "Not to say you don't have experience with biology!" Myka added quickly, "It just seems like most of your inventions deal with time and space and physics and things," Myka waved her hand about, "rather than anything biological in nature."

"Time and space and physics and things…" Helena gave a sad smile. "Yes. Indeed they do."

"Is this it?" Myka pulled a large metal ring from the suitcase. It was an assortment of colors, with little glass tubules and wires. She could feel the inside edge had tiny pinpricks, and cautiously handed it to Helena.

"Ah, yes. This is it." Helena bent over Myka's hand before Myka quickly stuck the tip of her pointer finger in her mouth. "Have you pricked yourself, Myka? Terribly sorry. Should have warned you."

Myka pulled her finger from her mouth, and, not seeing any blood, shoved it in her pocket. She stood and pushed the stool back to its original spot across the aisle, causing a loud scraping sound to echo through the stacks. The two flinched, quieted, and then chuckled lightly. "I hate those types of noises," Myka confided. "They're just pure ugly."

"Completely unpleasant, I agree." Helena carefully wrapped the choker in a dark blue piece of cloth she found in the trunks. It looked like another kerchief. She then closed the trunk slowly (lesson learned), and stood back with a sigh. "Shall we?" Helena inquired, looking at Myka. She was terribly stricken by the woman. Myka, knowing that a Saturday would likely be uneventful for warehouse standards, had worn the modern informal combination of light blue jeans and a navy v-neck sweater. The warehouse-assigned tool belt rested lightly on her hips. In Helena's opinion, Myka could never look bad in anything. The jeans fitted her well; the light leather boots she wore had heels, elevating her slightly, and causing all the right muscles in her legs and thighs to tense. That's what heels were for, wasn't it? And while H.G. was never a big fan of the heel herself, she never let a moment pass to admire their effects in others.

Myka had her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, smiling at Helena. "We shall!"

H.G. was only loosely aware of the smirk adorning her face – the one previous lovers had equated to words like 'predatory' and 'elicit.' But she was the great H.G. Wells, and she never missed a beat. "Then lead on, Myka dear."

The younger agent hadn't missed the stare, and couldn't decide if the feeling in her gut concerning the look was good or bad. The past months that Helena had been in her life had been the most confusing and well, bipolar months she had had of late. First the Victorian woman was a villain, and then, despite Artie's deepest denials, Helena had revealed her intentions to be genuine and heartfelt. In spite of Artie not trusting H.G., Myka had felt a stirring within herself that hadn't been there since Sam, and that hadn't been felt towards a woman since, well, a very long time. H.G. was everything Myka endeavored to be as a woman: well-read, witty, clever, intelligent, in control, beautiful. Instead she was bookish, frazzled, and alone, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was gravitating towards H.G. because she had an attraction to her rather than because she put her on some sort of pedestal. Myka chewed her lip. She had chewed her lip regarding this issue every night since the blasted Victorian had strode, tesla blazing, into the unpredictable life she had here at warehouse 13.

Likewise, Myka's introspective silence wasn't lost on Helena. "I… apologize," she cleared her throat, "if my open admiration has made you uncomfortable." Ruining her relationship with Myka was the last thing she wanted to do, and the mentally berated herself for letting her seductive side show itself too forwardly. At this point, Helena couldn't understand her own behavior. She was the type of woman who got what she wanted, who got who she wanted with little to no effort on her part. Helena fiddled with the edge of the choker. Myka just made her nervous. It seemed like, when around the agent, her tact and experience into the forays of human relations just bled away completely. Rather than be a blabbering idiot concerning the subject, Helena elected to never speak of it at all.

Astonished at the sudden honesty, Myka faltered. Where had the confident, silver-tongued Agent Wells gone? "No, I –"

"I will endeavor to restrain myself in the future."

"H.G., it doesn't bother me. I have nothing wrong with same-sex attraction, and you're a lovely woman, I just – "

"…Don't share the experience yourself." Helena finished for her. She very carefully kept the disappointment from her words.

"No, that's not entirely true. I had a… " Myka bit her lip, searching for the words. She finally settled on, "… an encounter, in college, that I… very much enjoyed. But she… " Myka's voice began to crack, and she paused before continuing. "Well, we can just say she wasn't the person I thought I she was."

The thoughts rushed up from their burial ground again, and Helena had a sudden intake of breath before grinding them back down. 'Twas too premature for those sorts of thoughts. "You must pardon me, but it sounds a mite more serious than a simple 'encounter,'"

"It was." Myka said, shortly.

After a short, but awkward pause, H.G. added, "Those of the fairer sex have ever been the more difficult and intriguing pursuit. Women… when lost, hurt more." Helena looked over as Myka nodded. "But I believe that's why I have always been inclined to think they were worth more, as a result."

They rounded a corner into a different part of the warehouse. Myka murmured something the other woman didn't catch. "Hm?"

Myka cleared her throat again, quoting: "_'I love and only love the fairer sex and thus beloved by them in turn, my heart revolts from any love but theirs.'_"

H.G. peered at Myka from narrowed eyes. "Anne Lister. You really are quite well-read, aren't you?"

"I'm ashamed you're only just now figuring this out about me," Myka joked lightly, easing the mood.

"Oh, pish tosh. I've always been aware of our kindred spirits concerning literature. Your affairs with books only make you a more educated and engaging companion."

"Good to know." Myka glanced at H.G. before pushing a stray hair behind her ear, genuinely pleased with her praise. They walked the final few feet before Myka stopped in front of four large wooden crates. "Right, then. Here we are. One of these is the fridge. For some reason, Artie insisted in putting all of the oversized psychology-related artifacts right next to each other. And because the crates are made in stock sizes…" Myka trailed off.

"…The boxes all look the same." H.G. finished.

"And all the tags are facing in, not out."

"Who was the last person to stack these crates?"

"Um…" Myka went over to the nearest computer consol, and navigated to the time-charts. "Doesn't say. I think it was Pete, though, since everyone else looks like they were busy then."

Helena mentally rolled her eyes. While Pete was a sweetheart, his lack of sense often left her wanting. "Well, how to do want to do this? We could go to the other side of the stack and crawl through some artifacts, if they're not too bad…" Helena stopped. Myka's eyes had gotten wide and she was shaking her head fiercely.

"Mongolian weaponry from the seventh warehouse. Wouldn't risk it."

"Yes. Well. Good advice." H.G. fondled her locket, lightly tapping her foot. "What is it you need to do with this refrigerator, exactly?"

"Artie says he wants to find out if the refrigerator is the artifact, or if it's a single part of the refrigerator that's causing the effects. So we need to move the box to a pushcart and cart it back to the office for him." Myka began pushing a crate to the side, peering in the tiny crack with a small flashlight. "He says he's tired of having to store massive artifacts."

"I'm assuming, then, he doesn't expect us to carry it up the stairs."

Myka shoved the crate back into its former position. "No tag on the side either." She brushed her hair from her eyes again, and moved back, still staring at the crates. "I would say that's a valid assumption. But first we need to figure out which of these crates is the refrigerator without having to open each one."

Helena sighed and looked over at Myka. "Well, Myka darling, we may be, as Claudia so aptly puts it, 'shit out of luck.'"

"I was afraid you'd say that." Myka frowned and jammed her hands into her back pockets, a habit H.G. had always found dreadfully adorable in the younger woman.

"Here, Agent Bering, how about this: if you'd so kindly hand me the hammer and crowbar from your tool belt, I'll begin the process of opening the crates. In the meantime if you'd find a pull cart, we can see if we can make this process go any faster."

Myka nodded, already holding both the hammer and crowbar. "Be right back."

By the time Myka returned with a push cart not too many minutes later, Helena had pulled up her hair, shed her jacket, and opened two of the crates evidenced by the wooden slats lying on the aisle floor.

H.G. motioned to the open crate on the left. "It seems we're in luck. The second crate I opened was the refrigerator." She stepped back from the stack as Myka parked the pushcart directly in front of the fridge.

"Awesome. So now what?"

Helena unwrapped the choker and started positioning it around her neck, cringing slightly as the needle-like electrodes pierced her skin. "I slip on this nifty apparatus, and we lift the fridge to the pushcart, I imagine."

"Do you need me to prep anything for when you're done lifting? How long does this superstrength last?"

"An average of three to four minutes." Helena glanced up from fiddling with the clunky jewelry and noticed Myka's slight frown. "I completely agree with you – it's not a very long time. Not enough to be very practical, at least." Helena smiled lightly. "In conjunction with the setbacks, you can see why I never bothered to develop it further. But it should be just enough time to complete our task."

"Okay, then. Do you just want to…?" Myka moved to the left of the crate just as Helena made for the same side, and they shared a moment of embarrassment before H.G. allowed Myka to pass. When they were both in position, Myka peered around the edge of the box at the woman fiddling with some tiny buttons on the device at her neck. "How do you want to do this?"

Helena closed her eyes and shuddered slightly, feeling the electrodes in the back of the choker activate, stimulating selective areas of the upper spinal cord. "Oh… I do apologize." Helena rubbed her temples for a minute, hopped on the balls of her feet and shook out her hands. "I've forgotten how overwhelming this can feel."

"Are you going to be okay?" Myka asked, peering around the crate again.

"Yes. Yes. I'm quite alright. Just a bit – jumpy. Can we…?" She gestured to the box.

"Oh –" Myka repositioned herself, "Just tell me what you need me to do."

Helena spoke very fast, her body's reaction giving her far too much energy for her to know what to do with. "I'm going to tip the crate. You grab the underside. I will lift it. You brace it against me, keep it balanced. I will do the actual moving."

"Okay, okay –" Myka knelt, nervous, bracing herself after taking one last peek around the corner of the crate.

"Quick, Agent Bering, before it wears off – "

"I'm ready, just – "

"Lifting!"

Myka slipped her fingers under the bottom of the crate and pushed. She frowned: It didn't feel as if she was helping Helena at all. "I got it –"

"Excellent!" H.G. hissed, strained. "Move now, darling, quickly now!"

The two of them struggled, stepping down from the floor of the stack and onto the concrete of the warehouse. "Almost there –" gasped Myka, wondering for the fiftieth time how H.G. was pulling this off. "Okay, H.G., we're there, just set –"

"Let go!" Helena barked, and Myka hurriedly released the crate as if stung. It crashed down on the cart with such force it was a wonder the push cart didn't crack. Had it been wooden, Myka was absolutely positive it would have shattered.

Helena let out a wheeze, bracing herself against the side of the crate as she yanked off the choker and slid to the floor. It skated across the aisle, resting at the edge of a corner. Myka knelt down with concern, noting how incredibly red she was. H.G. let her head slide back, hitting the side of the crate with a solid thunk. "You alright?"

Helena barely managed to lift her finger to the 'one moment' position as she gave a slight nod, breathing heavily. She hadn't remembered the side effects being this bad. "Forgotten… intense…" she paused, wetting her lips, "So tired," she said finally, arm falling to her side.

Myka touched her shoulder. "Okay. Okay. We'll stay here until you're ready to head back." She sat next to the older woman and wrapped her right arm around her neck. Helena's head fell into Myka's shoulder, for once not caring about the consequences of the small intimacy.

H.G was grateful when Myka spoke, yanking her from her musings of sleep. "Anne Lister… did you ever meet her?"

It seemed like an hour to Helena before she could speak again, though the time likely trailed on minutes or even seconds. She licked her lips before speaking, not bothering to move her head from Myka's shoulder. She smelt like gardenias, warehouse, and vaguely of ferret. "No. She died roughly twenty years before my time."

Myka had been resting her head atop Helena's, and looked up when her companion spoke. "Ah. Too bad."

Helena sat up slowly, drawing her knees to her chest. "Yes, darling, too bad indeed." H.G. answered with a grim smile, "but I heard she was always completely full of bollocks anyway, so 'twas likely no loss on my part." Myka laughed and after a second Helena added her own chuckle. "I understand she was under the impression that all women ought to sleep with her, no matter what their preference. Miss Lister had little shame in flaunting it, either."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Myka jabbed lightly, grinning.

Helena jerked back and narrowed her eyes at Myka. "Agh! You wound me. I would never deign to be anything like that woman!"

"Really?" Myka heckled, still grinning.

"Yes – she practically sold herself!"

"Well, you might not sell yourself, but you have to admit you _do_ have a bit of an ego."

Helena crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow. "Of course! Do I not deserve one? You must concede I _deserve_ a bit of one, given the things I've seen and done."

"Alright. I'll give you that." Myka just chuckled as she stood, letting the argument go. "Do you think you can make it back to the office? I'd appreciate your help pushing this infernal thing."

"That's what I thought," Helena said smugly, grabbing Myka's offered hand to pull herself up. "How did Claudia say it? You're 'all bark and no bite', Agent Bering."

"What? Are you kidding me?" she said, punching her friend in the shoulder. "And it sounds to me you've been spending far too much time with Claudia."

"No, I'm not 'kidding' you!" Helena rubbed her arm where Myka hit her. "You mustn't give up an argument so easily darling, not when you have the faculties to win!"

Myka grabbed the handle of the cart, struggling to get it moving. "Well maybe I was just –" she huffed, interrupting herself, "- being nice to a friend – " she rolled on her back, her shoes squeaking as she tried to make the loaded cart move faster than the lolling roll it took on now. "- who just suffered total exhaustion from moving a fridge!"

Helena snorted. "That wasn't total exhaustion, darling, but I'd be happy to – " she stopped midsentence, realizing she had let the filter between her mouth and mind go too far yet again.

"What?" Myka asked, all sarcasm with a grin on her face. She put on a horrible British accent and continued, "Why, Miss Wells, cat got your tongue?"

H.G. just gaped at her. Myka huffed, blushed, and gave a slight smile. "No, seriously though, what were you saying?"

"Nothing of great import, really. Do carry on."

Myka eyed her slyly. "You're not getting out of this so easily, Wells – you'll tell me eventually."

Having recovered, Helena feigned innocence. "Tell you what, darling?"

"Alright, I see how it is. Just get over here and help me with this cart, will you?"

Looking smug, H.G. swaggered toward Myka before placing her hands ever-so-elegantly on the cart handle. "As a side note, I'll have you know that was the most horrible impression I have ever heard."

"Uh huh. Like you could do an American accent any better."

Helena chuckled lightly, then added (with perfect American enunciation), "Hm. Is that so?"

Myka cast Helena a scowl so wroth, she almost regretted the jest. "You're completely incorrigible." By now the cart was moving slowly down the aisle.

"Yes, well, I may have been born after Washington's rebellion, but it was still a nice tool to have at one's disposal. Your America wasn't all that friendly towards my kinsman for a while."

"I wonder why," Myka answered, words tinged with sarcasm.

"Bloody Yanks."

"Blasted Limeys."

"Bah! You Americans were all too rebellious for our sensible British tastes anyway. Simply rotten."

"Well now. I figured you'd have liked your women rebellious."

"How is it you figure I like women?"

"You didn't think the, 'many of my lovers were men' comment would tip me off?"

Helena carefully considered her next words, for while she could easily play coy, confident, and witty in front of those she cared little for, Myka was another story. "No, I just hadn't thought it something you felt worth noting." She recalled their conversation from earlier. It had been interrupted. She took a breath in, hesitant, not wanting to push too hard. "Did she ruin women for you, then? Your university tryst?"

As they both shrugged forward with the cart, Myka's curls fell like a screen between the two of them. A considerable silence passed before Myka answered, "I hadn't really thought about it. Yes. Perhaps. I'm not sure… I mean, I never stopped seeing women for what they were, I think I kind of just avoided them because they reminded me so much of _her_." She flipped her hair back with a jerk of her head, effortlessly, before softly continuing on. "It was the little things, you know?"

Helena nodded. "It always is."

As if she hadn't heard, Myka continued, "And then, there were people I met during the course of my career. But I never felt as strongly about them as I did Heather, and I never imagined I'd feel that way for a man… and then came Sam."

Sensing distress, Helena tried to intervene carefully. "We don't have to talk about it now, if you like. I've read the files… I understand if it's still too delicate." Myka was like porcelain, and in this desperate moment Helena felt ever so much like a bull trying to serve tea.

A hollow laugh filled the air, and it sent a chill through H.G. "No, no." She took a deep breath. "I've gotten over him, or at least accepted what's happened. It was just so… infuriating for me! The only two people I'd ever really felt for, ever really… invested in left. They just… left. Heather because she was too goddamn wrapped around what her parents wanted out of her, and Sam because he was just a few seconds too early. _Seconds_, Helena! That's what took him from me, _seconds!_"

The cart creaked to a stop as they both stopped pushing. Myka rubbed her temples, and H.G. could see her struggling with tears. She hesitated, lifted her arms momentarily then stopped, not knowing if allowing this hug would break the slender balance their friendship rested on. She settled for grabbing Myka's free hand.

"I know," Helena whispered, hoarse. "I know. Of all the villains to face this earth, time is the only one that will never face a proper justice. He steals everything from us, and never gives back. Our youth… our lovers…" she swallowed, "…Our daughters. But Myka," H.G. gently took her left hand and tucked her friend's voracious curls behind an ear, "if we give up, then he wins. He–"

Myka suddenly pulled the smaller women into a crashing hug, interrupting everything. The end of her sentence was barely a sigh. "— wins…" Myka shook gently, and despite the warm wetness forming on her shoulder, Helena could tell she was holding back sobs.

But as quickly as it began, it stopped. Myka pulled out of Helena's arms and straightened herself just as she would her unruly hair. "I'm sorry Helena, I didn't mean to just bombard you like that. I had no right to just… freak out like that."

This time it was Helena grabbing Myka, wishing with all the seconds she'd ever wasted that she could destroy the ones causing her heart's desire so much pain. "Never apologize for feeling," Helena whispered, "It's the ignorance of such emotional depth that causes us destruction, darling. It's when we turn away that we lose sight of what matters. But you can never lose sight of something if you face it head on." Helena gripped her, wondering briefly which one of them she was trying to keep from falling apart.

Myka's eyes bored into Helena's when she finally looked up. "No," Myka agreed, "You can't."

Suddenly wondering where she was pulling this inspiration from, H.G. pulled back. "And, ah, anyway, I'm your friend. We're friends. And friends… are wont to have a good cry together every once in a while, right?" Her friend laughed a little, wiping the stubborn moisture from her eyes.

"Right."

H.G. grabbed the bars of the cart again, and began pushing. "So. Let's get this refrigerator to the office proper, where we can pass the infernal thing to Artie and regale Pete with how brave you were when I accidentally smashed your finger with the crate."

"You did?" Myka's hands joined Helena's on the cart.

Helena scoffed. "Of course, darling. Why else would such a confident women have a fallen face on a day like this?"

Something moved inside Myka, touched. "Thank you." She whispered, gently placing her right hand over Helena's left.

Helena felt as if a small sun had risen inside her. With that touch, her mouth quirked a tiny smile: the sole evidence of three flawless seconds.


End file.
